I think of organizational culture as “how we do things here”. It includes what is praised here, what is frowned upon, and what will get someone fired. Different cultural styles exist, from expertise-oriented, to inclusion-oriented. One style is not necessarily superior to another, but it’s important that everyone in the organization be aligned.

When cultural alignment problems exist, two things need to happen:

1. The leader needs to clearly communicate in words and by example “how we do things here”.

2. Team members who are unwilling or unable to align with the desired culture must be replaced.

If you want a high-energy, can-do culture and you have a low-stress, enjoy-the-process team member, it’s probably not going to work.

There is no such thing as culture change without turnover.

Of course the logical thing to do going forward is purposefully select employees who fit the desired culture at hiring time.

I’ve been back in the USA for three days now. It’s great to be back home.

My American friends, I want to challenge how you think about distant countries like India.

Value the Differences

Realize that there are good reasons for the strange customs, the strange food, the strange family culture. Do not assume that different equals inferior. In most cases the American way is not better, it’s just suited for a different context. In most cases our way wouldn’t work as well there as their way does. America is great at a lot of things, but not everything is better here.

See the Commonality

Some of the circumstances are different, but people everywhere have ambition to better themselves, loyalty to family and friends, desire for meaningful work, struggles with insecurity, and pain in difficult relationships. Human emotion and human psychology are pretty universal.

Care Across Borders

Do you see yourself on the same team with your fellow citizens of earth in all countries, or do you see opposing teams? Are you willing to give up some prosperity if it means more people across the globe can lift themselves out of poverty? Are you willing to send aid money to places in need? Are you willing to send outsourced jobs to places in need? Isn’t a job better than a handout?

Do you love people because they are from your country, because they are like you, or because they are inherently valuable humans?

I’m watching daybreak in Kolkata for the last time on this trip. My mind and heart are full of everything I have seen and felt in the last four days.

I thought by now I’d be aching to go home, yearning for familiar comforts, and disturbed by the brokenness of this place. I feel an ache, but it’s one of sadness at leaving this place that embraced me wholeheartedly and gave me new friends. I feel a yearning to look into the face of every man, woman, and child here and inspire them to believe their own life is of infinite value. And although I see the brokenness here, as I leave I am disturbed by what is missing in America.

I thought I would pity the people here, but I don’t. They don’t need or want my pity. They want opportunity. They want freedom from corruption. They want to better themselves. They want human connection and they have it in spades.

Kolkata is a beehive overflowing with buzzing humanity. By contrast America now seems sterile, cold, and isolated. Here even driving down the road is an interactive experience full of humanity. Take the buses for example, jammed full plus a dozen people on the roof all chattering, laughing, leaning out the windows, jumping on and off as they lurch along. Or the constant blaring of horns which seems like futile insanity until you being to understand that most of it is caring signaling for the safety of pedestrians, carts, and bicycles engaged in the high stakes weaving dance of jockeying for space on the narrow road ahead.

In America we sit alone in our separate cars, staring straight ahead, barely acknowledging the fellow members of humanity we are passing. If you’ve never been swept away by a place like this I probably sound crazy to you, but right now it’s the American version of driving that makes no sense to me.

I came here hoping I could give the people of Kolkata something of what I’ve been blessed with. I didn’t expect to receive so much of what they have been blessed with. I’m leaving here with a bigger heart more deeply in love with the beauty of humanity.

Yesterday I spent 9 hours on a trip to visit a textile dye house. About 8 hours of that we spent driving the 40 miles there and back. Traffic is beyond insane here in this overcrowded city. In conversing with my suppliers and so much to see as we drove, the time flew by.

The dye house crew. I did my best to communicate my gratitude to these workers for their contribution to my business in America.

Me with the owner of the dye house. He had just been telling me about how he likes Covey's Seven Habits book. Amazing what we have in common with people seemingly far removed.

As I adjust to the newness of this place, the sights and sounds are fading into the background and the people are capturing my attention.

Ashok (pronounced a-shook) goes to bed at midnight every day. He gets up at 4am and takes a one-hour train ride during which he sleeps a little more. Then he takes a one-hour bus ride to the five-star hotel in Kolkata where he works in housekeeping. He works 9 hours a day, 6 days a week. On the day I talked with him we was working a double shift to help cover on the strike day, for no extra pay. “It’s no problem.” he says “They are very short-handed today.”

The American idea of hotel housekeeping is completely inadequate to describe what Ashok does. He spends the entire day on the 8th floor. Anytime you step off the elevator he is there to greet you with a formal “Good afternoon, Sir.” Anytime you step out of your room he is there to say hello and see if you need anything. He cleans each room twice per day. He noticed I was drinking only bottled water and voila 6 bottles of water are in my room in place of the usual two. As we are talking he steps away to open and reclose a door down the hall. The guest had accidentally left it slightly ajar and thus unlocked. Somehow while talking to me Ashook noted that the lock did not click, from half a floor away. If you stay in your room all day and only step out for 5 minutes to walk downstairs, it will be clean when you return.

He knows the country each guest is visiting from without asking. By listening to guests speak he has learned enough of several languages to converse. His English is broken but completely adequate for he and I to understand each other.

Ashok has worked on the 8th floor of this hotel for 13 years. He has tears in his eyes as he tells me how he remembers when only one room on the 8th floor was finished construction. He was there as each additional room was finished. “The 8th floor is my baby, my mother, my father.” he says. We would say it is the love of his life. He has had other job offers for 25% more than he makes now, but he will not leave. He could use more money, but he loves his 8th floor. His manager is kind to him, appreciates him, and implores him to stay.

After his shift he goes to the kitchen to train under the chef as a volunteer for two hours. He loves cooking and he wants to learn. Then he takes the two hour bus and train commute back to his home-town. He studies for his “qualification”, the equivalent of a high school diploma. The only sadness I saw in him was when he talked about how he is disappointed with himself that he does not have it yet. He is 38 years old. He picks up notes from the school, studies on his own time, and pays fees to take the final exams. High school here requires proficiency in three languages. He has no classroom time, no teacher, no tutor, no peers to help him understand. He has only his ambition, his desire to grow.

On the train station platform some people are waiting for him. Among them are two children, a boy and a girl. “Their mother and father are gone. They call me uncle. They wait for me every day. ‘Uncle is coming, uncle is coming.’ they say to each other.” (I wonder if today they are waiting 9 extra hours since he is working a double shift.) Others are waiting on the platform for Ashok too. He gives them each something. A few rupees, some bread, some candy, all things he has thoughtfully brought for them from the city at his own expense. “I am giving to God.” he says, smiling and pointing upward.

When he gets home, his elderly mother and father are already in bed, but they don’t sleep until they see that he is home safely. They have no social security, Ashok is their sole provider. Once he is home they are asleep within 5 minutes. Ashok makes himself dinner, takes a bath, and repeats this story again tomorrow.

Two days are special in his week. Thursday is his day off. He cleans the family house. He takes care of his garden. He goes to the market to shop for his family. “I have to do all the week’s marketing in only 1 or 2 hours. It is hard.” He has started a small shop near the train station selling coffee and tea. I have no idea when he finds time to work there.

The other special day is Sunday. On Sundays after work he walks to St. Paul’s Church. He sits there in silence for 1 or 2 hours. “This is my rest.” he says. The way he says the word rest is with an exhaling that comes from every fiber of his being and shows he much he cherishes that time.

Ashok is full of service, loyalty, generosity, diligence and ambition. From his income he supports himself, his mother, his father, and his education. And every day he gives something to those orphans and others.

He makes about $5 per day.

He is one of the happiest people I’ve ever met.